


Can't A Man Die In Peace?

by Oncemorewith_tension



Category: Danger Days: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys (Album), My Chemical Romance
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Necromancy, but not cool necromancy just like background necromancy, this is extremely self indulgent but doesn't really go anywhere i just love these characters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-06
Updated: 2019-05-06
Packaged: 2020-02-27 05:22:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18732430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oncemorewith_tension/pseuds/Oncemorewith_tension
Summary: For an ask on Tumblr calling for an interaction between Doctor Death Defying and the Phoenix Witch, or how Doctor Death Defying got his name.





	Can't A Man Die In Peace?

He’s dying, but that's sort of a given in this place.

The noise of the pig bombs in the next town across is unignorable - he knows that they have to be miles off but the ground still groans when each one hits, smoke curling up into the sky and joining the mass of noxious brown clouding the sun and creating an evening-like darkness. He doesn’t doubt that that would have killed him in the end; he’s heard from the soldiers and other survivors that whatever hellish machine that Better Living has, it has already conquered death, so it isn’t a concern for them if they have to choke the life out of the world as long as they can bring back something more obedient.

The thing is, the Doctor always thought he’d die more quickly than this. The pig bombs always looked like the most likely death, not by the toxic fumes they are rumoured to leave behind but by the impact of one. Better Living Industries was relentless and there were very few cities left that they hadn’t hit yet, and it was by pure luck that the Doctor had stayed just out of the reach of their destruction.

If he wasn’t to die by the bombs, then, surely he would be gunned down. The Helium Wars went on too long and the Freedom Fighters were really nothing but ghost stories anymore - the Doctor rarely saw the few survivors of his band of rebels, and even then they had had so much taken from them that there was barely anything left of them at all, let alone to continue fighting. But hell if he wasn’t going to fight until he couldn’t anymore, if not with the rebel force then for them, and so going out fighting, then, as cliché as it may be always looked likely for him. A bolt from one of those ray guns that the Better Living soldiers seemed to have started to use, just in the wrong place would get him, and if not that then one of the exterminators who hunted down his friends would come after him. It was just a matter of time.

This, was not what happened to the Doctor however. For as many stray gun shots that hit him and _just_ missed critical organs, and as many pig bombs as fell _just_ next to his base, it was illness which had him clinging desperately to stay awake now. It was the sort of thing that shouldn’t have even slowed him down - he’s a Doctor for God’s sake, he should at least be able to look after himself, but things weren’t simple and easy like that anymore. He could barely get a good supply of clean water, forget antibiotics, and although the illness had been simply inconvenient for the first week, the exhaustion and pain got steadily worse, leaving him to die slowly and alone.

Another pig bomb drops wrenching him nauseatingly from his thoughts as the rumble rises and fades. He’s lying outside the building he had been using as a base, on the dirt. It’s really an awful place to be lying - not only is it totally out in the open and very easy to attack, but it's sort of uncomfortable and not very clean. The Doctor figures though that it doesn’t matter all that much, and he feels that it’s more fitting to die with a view of the world he’s leaving behind, breathing in the defiled air and witnessing the crimes of Better Living rather than hiding from it and dying quietly.

There’s a low hum from close by, a soothing sort of noise, getting closer and louder. The Doctor can’t see what it is but he doesn’t make much effort to look, just closes his eyes and listens to it. It sounds sweet and calming, but he can’t imagine what would make such a noise out here. Knowing his luck it’s probably a new low noise motorbike that Better Living has developed, and he really is going to die at the hands of one of them.

“Can you hear them?” There’s a low mutter, from somewhere behind the Doctor’s head, and he peels his eyes open to look but everything's sort of blurry and his eyes _hurt_ and he can’t see anyone there.

“Can you hear them? They’re so scared,” The voice is feminine and familiar, a little fearful, but the Doctor’s exhausted brain handed in its problem solving skills about a day ago and he can’t quite recognise it.

“They send you to taunt me?” He asks, stumbling a little over the words, “You guys not had enough fun yet?” He laughs humorlessly. There’s movement, this time the sound coming from in front of him and he rolls his head to the side to try to see.

“Oh, dear,” She says, "What have you been up to." There's more strength and certainty to her voice now, and then it all lines up in his head.

 

He’s flooded with a memory; it's hazy and the details are all wrong, the colours too bright or not quite the right shade, the people around them taller than they should be and duller. She’s gripping his arm, dark hair a mess behind her and running clumsily as she pushes past the too tall… no, _adult_ people around them. She laughs gleefully at him, and they couldn’t have been more than eight when this happened, oh, she’s going to-

Their mother gives them a suspicious but loving look as she pulls them both into her arms. This memory is different. Earlier? Or maybe a little later than the last, no, _much_ later. His mother runs a hand through his hair looking at the tree-climbing injuries disapprovingly and turning to his _sister,_ yes, that’s the word, caringly straightening her coat and murmuring under her breath about always caring for your _brother._

 

“Wake up! Come on, hey!” her voice draws him back, back to lying on the ground while the world ends in front of him. Her voice is high, unhappy and concerned, but not panicky. She was never one to panic, not even when they were children.

“Okay, ‘m awake, Jesus,” He slurs, forcing his eyes wide for a second in an effort to prove his alertness.

She emerges then from behind a little building across the street, glowing slightly, hovering a few inches off the floor and  moving forward to peer over him. He doesn’t even need to see behind the mask to know that she’s rolling her eyes and sighing at him. The Doctor’s first reaction is, naturally, hysterical laughter, because of _course_ she’d be here for this. Also, because seeing your sister for the first time in two years, covered in feathers and levitating over your body while you wait to die is a situation that is a little more surreal than he is capable of dealing with at that exact moment.

“You’re dying,” She states, and the Doctor cracks up even harder at her monotone.

“You’re glowing!” He giggles, actually _giggles_ and then she lowers herself and gives him a hard kick on the leg, which only makes him laugh harder. “Asshole,” she mutters, but there’s a note of concern there. He clumsily shuffles back a little, propping his head up uncomfortably against the wall so that he can see her better.

“It’s a good look you've got there, you know,” he starts “I might have to borrow that from you,” He gestures widely, aiming to point around the large mass of feathers over her torso but wheezing and succumbing to a wave of exhaustion and numbness. She steps closer. “A little… A little gothic, but then you always were, S-” She interrupts him with a harsh shush shake of her head.

“I don’t use that name around here anymore. Too many ears all over the place. They know me only as the Witch and I want to keep it that way,” She says quietly, waiting for the Doctor to nod knowingly. He understands that.

“You’re dying,” She repeats, softer this time. He pales from her tone and swallows unhappily.

“Damned sickness is everywhere out here. Saw it take out two boys from a big group a few weeks ago. They had so many supplies, but even then... Didn’t even know they had it bad until a few days before they-” The Doctor pauses to cough and she shifts quietly. “Guess its the sorta thing we would have been able to stop before, you know,” His eyes droop a little and he lets them close without protest. “The supplies… we don’t… we don’t have the stuff to fix people anymore,” His voice is slurring audibly now, and she kicks him hard again.

“Ow!” He lurches forward a little looking at her incredulously, “The hell was that for? Can’t a man die in peace _without_ extra bodily harm?”

“You need to stay awake. Focus. You aren’t going to die,” the Witch says surely, and it is at this point that the Doctor’s brain finally kicks into gear and he realises that he must be hallucinating. How he hadn’t realised previously is beyond him; he’s dying but he’s not stupid, his _sister_ for Christ's sake, his sister who was both presumed dead and had never shown any signs of glowing nor levitating in the past. He supposed that losing your mind may very well be a common symptom of a slow and painful death, but this is not _at all_ what he imagined it would be like.

“You aren’t hallucinating,” she says tiredly, and really does herself no favours because a dead, levitating, glowing, _mind-reading_ sister is definitely something to file under ‘you are absolutely unquestionably fucking nuts’, but then she kicks him in the leg _again,_ and that is really starting to hurt now.

“Hallucinations don’t hurt, dipshit, sit up I need to save your life,” She moves closer, hands emanating something purple and misty and she’s close enough that he can almost see her eyes under the mask now. She nods a little at him, holding her hands out and the Doctor figures what the hell, he’s dying anyway. He pushes roughly at the wall until he’s somewhat sat up, and casts his hands into hers.

It takes a second for him to notice that his vision has gone white, but he can still feel the cool night air around him and her firm grip on his fingers. He can hear that satisfying humming noise again too, this time from inside his head, the scale of the noise blocking everything else out except for her voice. The Witch is speaking very low, he can’t quite tell what she’s saying but it sounds comforting, and he settles. Aside from this slightly concerning new blindness he actually feels pretty calm, and he actually wouldn’t mind if this is how he dies.

He’s thrown back into reality then as she pulls her hands from this, hovering in front of him. She’s glowing brighter and brighter, the soft purple hue growing pinker and illuminating more of the street around them. The Doctor is not really sure what to do with himself - he supposes he should be freaked out, or impressed, or _something_ but he’s just so tired, so he simply watches.

She starts rising higher, still muttering something low in her throat. That’s when her head starts to twist, first right back, further than it should naturally, and then fast, painfully to the side towards a deafening rumbling noise and _fuck._

As it turns out, maybe the Doctor's luck really couldn't get any worse, because there they were, swarming towards them through the sky like insects, four Better Living aircraft. The first Pig Bomb drops too early, not quite over the city but close enough that the colossal crack of the impact hurt his ears. He turns to the Witch fearfully, but she seemed almost unconcerned, continuing to chant before surging forward and grasping the Doctor's hands again.

His vision contorts sickeningly just as the second bomb hits, far too close to survive.

 

He wakes up, face turned uncomfortably in the sand. The first thing he notices is the sun, Jesus, it’s so hot, so bright, unobscured by smoke and shining brighter than it’s been in months.

He tries to turn himself over but he can’t and his body just groans in protest. He finds that it’s not the ache and nausea of illness, however, just stiffness. He can’t move his legs, _fuck_ , why can’t he move his legs, and then someone crashes down on the sand next to him.

They pull a blue motorcycle helmet off and start shouting but the Doctor can’t hear them, can just see the strain in their face and neck as they turn him over and pull him closer, putting his head in their lap, obviously upset and saying something over and over again to him. He feels the urge to try and reassure them, he actually feels better than he has for weeks, but he finds that he literally can’t speak, or even put his hand out to them. They are shaking in distress, holding the Doctor’s head protectively close.

The Doctor sees the Witch for a split second, hovering in the distance, high above the sand, arms spread wide, before reality lurches again.

 

He wakes once again with familiar dirt behind his back.

He sits up immediately, surprised and extremely grateful for how easily the movement comes to him. He feels warm for the first time in weeks, comfortable and energised, the previous pain and exhaustion gone. He has to blink a few times but what he is seeing is unmistakable.

The area around him is totally flattened. as far as he can see in every direction there is debris, pieces of stone and wood and glass scattered formlessly. Just like every other City that Better Living has hit, they've left nothing, save for the image of their logo, printed onto some of the larger pieces of broken stone and shattered walls.

He stumbles to his feet and staggers around a little but there’s no sign of the Witch, though he's still not sure if she was ever there at all, just two big scorch marks on either side of where he had been lying, like barriers marking out where his body had been. That's when he notices that there even _is_ somewhere that he has been lying, untouched by the destruction around him save for the marks. He turns, pleased to be alive but extremely confused, and sees the large wall behind him, still standing and easily the least damaged structure for miles, even free of any hints of the Better Living grin. Above where he had been laying, carved, no, _burned_ into the wall are the words: "All Hail Doctor Death Defying!"

The shape of the letters is unmistakable and he smiles.


End file.
